Everybody needs a Jane

Those striking words came from a special woman I know named Jane, a frank but caring mother, wife, sister, daughter, teacher, friend, aunt -- and caregiver.

Over the past several months, Jane has sacrificed many of her and her immediate family's own needs to care for her brother, a terminally ill cancer patient. Her brother is divorced and his daughter and son are unable to take care of him full-time.

All rolled into one person, our special Jane assumes the responsibility of mother, sister, psychologist, physical therapist, doctor, lawyer, life coach and, perhaps most importantly, friend.

You see, the role of a family caregiver is much more dynamic -- and difficult -- than I believe most people could ever imagine. On the surface, you might think of a caregiver as helping with chores around the house, making sure medications are being taken by the patient, and helping one into and out of the shower.

But Jane has also become responsible for the emotional well-being of an extremely dependent, lonely and depressed man who is grappling with the concept of dying much too young. That, my friends, is no small task.

Until you've walked a mile in the shoes of a caregiver, you really have no idea how emotionally, physically and mentally taxing caring for someone you love who's very sick can be.

I have walked a few miles in Jane's shoes (just a few), because Jane is my aunt and my savior. Her brother is my father, and Jane has stepped up to the plate to care for my dad because I can't physically do so full-time, unless I resign from my position at this newspaper, and leave my life to move 1,200 miles away to live with my father.

The guilt of being so far away, wondering if I am doing enough, doing my best, lives with me constantly. That feeling is just another incurable side effect suffered by loved ones of cancer patients.

On the bright side, I can rest at night knowing my father is in good hands, and I guess that's a lot for which I should be thankful.

I have made seven trips to New York since I learned of my dad's diagnosis in March. These trips have given Jane a slight break from time to time, and they have made me appreciate so many things about life. I appreciate the precious time I have with my dad, and I appreciate every single caregiver who has made life just a bit more comfortable, more happy, for those battling tough illnesses.

I have also learned that my father is no easy patient, to no fault of his own. A simple man, my father grew up spoiled by the women in his life. He worked hard on the farm, but his mother, eight non-farming sisters and former wife always made sure dinner was on the table, laundry was done, bills were paid, and life was good.

When I'm home, as I recently was last week, there's not a minute that goes by that my father is not asking me to perform a task for him. I may have just returned to his recliner with his morning pills and water, when he sends me back to the kitchen for a soda. Next, he wants me to go get him a new pair of socks. After returning with those, he'll ask me to go get a shirt. Then, I'll be running outside to get something out of his truck for him.

Why he can't ask for everything at once, I don't know, but that's just a part of who my father is. I don't think he can stand to see anyone sit idle.

I love every minute I have with my father, but each time I leave him in New York, I leave exhausted. I can't imagine doing this full-time, like Jane.

Jane, a retired school teacher, takes it all in stride, and seems to enjoy pulling the weight of the family. My dad loves her, and it's easy to see why. Though tough, she has that nurturing motherly touch when his stomach hurts, she has the organizational skills to deal with instructions, pills, insurance and diagnoses when it's time to visit the doctors, and she's fair and trustworthy when it comes to dealing with not-so-fun things like estate wills and accounting.

Jane probably would like more help (I know she would love for me to be home more, though she understands my circumstances), but she never complains.

Ask her how and why she does it and she'll tell you "everybody needs somebody." And, when it's all said and done, Jane knows she'll feel as if she has done her very best to make life just a little better for her baby brother.

Jane is my hero, and I appreciate her more than words can say.

Do you know any Janes?

If so, perhaps it's time to tell them how much their caring nature has meant to you.

-- Sadie Fowler is the lifestyles editor at the Times-Gazette. She can be reached at sfowler@t-g.com. This column is scheduled to publish each Sunday.